


Invitation

by black_hat_with_bells



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:41:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_hat_with_bells/pseuds/black_hat_with_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sark and Sydney begin a game</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> written for quiet_rebel for five acts meme

The game started out pretty thrilling from the beginning.

He knew where she lived and he had the better connections. It was just a study of his opponent, an admiration of her intelligence. Sark watched her in her daily life, wondering why she bothered with the façade. He knew what she really was: she was like him.

He had a sense of something familiar in her eyes—dark. Into the challenge of the game. This life wasn’t her, the constant consideration of her droll friends and their petty concerns. He didn’t understand why she grew so upset when her colleagues were harmed either. They knew what they were getting into, after all.

Sark wanted her to realize how similar they truly were (and it took over his thoughts more than he wanted to admit), and he wanted to be present when she did realize it. The one thing he didn’t count on was her exquisite timing and taste in the ironic.

Just as he was about to send all his photos of her, he received a delivery on the front step of the building he was hiding in.

There were photos of him. And despite himself, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and for once, he gasped out loud, his heart speeding up.

One never realized how small one could seem in black and white. He chose his pictures in color. Also…

They were independently developed photos. The agency (whichever one she worked for now) had had nothing to do with her sudden hobby in photography.

Was this an invitation?

(Did he really have to wonder?)

He was intrigued.

***

Sark wondered how close he could get.

Because it was an invitation. One that became more and more inviting each day. He had heard one of her missions had gone very badly, and that night, she left her window curtains open while she tended to her bruises.

She didn’t wince, and he studied which hand she used…the muscular shape of her arm. She might have killed someone tonight. An hour later, she had that friend over for a sleepover. Another time, she just stared off into space.

(That bothered him greatly.)

He began to keep a schedule built around watching her, especially after his more difficult missions. He always had her to return too, that unfinished business that kept him near her. He had even taken an interest in the shows that she watched and the books she read.

However, it seemed the more he watched her, the less he knew about her.

How intoxicating.

How frustrating.

***

 

They meet again, and for once, they weren’t supposed to fight.

Sark mourned the lost opportunity like she surely did. He knew exactly how many times they had fought by now. Several times she was in disguises, and he wasn’t quite –sure before, but now he knew her eyes and the look in them.

The memories brought a smile to his face.

Sydney made a face at him in return. “I have a message for you.”

“You managed to smuggle it out of the facility undetected?” he asked. He didn’t try to hide his admiration of her resourcefulness.

“I wouldn’t be here, Sark, if I had been detected,” she said. Snide. He had her attention now.

“Care to tell me your secret?”

“No,” Sydney said. “But I’ll show you.”

She motioned for him to follow her through the crowded club, and though he hesitated for a moment, he did so. She whispered in this bulky fellow’s ear, and the man nodded, moving aside.

“Always a good sign,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I don’t need backup to handle you.”

“I wouldn’t have you believe anything else,” Sark told her. They stared at each other. He waited for her to mention what they were both doing on the side. Both watching each other. Was he her real secret life? Did it have a definition?

Sydney took a bottle out of the thin pocket of her dress.

“You’ll have to pour this on my back to get the message.”

Okay. She surprised him this time. He took the bottle hesitantly.

“Is it oil?”

“Could be. It doesn’t matter.”

“Would you hate me if I inform you that I would have done this without the promise of a message?”

She looked like she wanted to slap him for a moment—and then something strange happened. She turned her back to him and slipped her dress down over her shoulders.

For once in his life, he was truly speechless.

He had planned for this turn of events for months, if he was honest with himself, and now…she couldn’t see that she had this much of an effect on him.

Or should she see it? Would that in turn affect her? Is that why she turned her back?

He couldn’t think about this anymore. Sark moved forward and gently poured the chemical on her back. There it was.

A sort of written message.

“You’ll have to touch your finger to the words to read it,” she told him. She was waiting for him to make a remark.

He had nothing but should. He touched the damp curve of her back and then touched a cut near her shoulder. She looked at him, knowing what he was doing (asking).

He controlled his hands perfectly when his fingers trailed down to the message.

“Paper and a pen would be nice about now,” he said, memorizing the message as he went. She made a sound—it sounded like a laugh.

He felt like this was one of his better victories, making her laugh. Her skin was soft. Scarred. But soft--it was so easy to loose her, in reality-- and he had so many questions. His breath was catching, and he was this close to showing how much control he was losing.

Sydney herself stood so still, and Sark felt like he knew her even less. It…

He swallowed hard and finished. Quickly. He wasn’t going to let her think that it was just her body (though her body was incredible) that interested him.

He’d remember the seconds though.

Shame he wanted to touch her again the moment he stopped.

She didn’t turn around, and for a moment, he was worried for himself. Was it a trap? Then she turned around, bringing her dress up, and he saw that her face was flushed.

She was letting him see her face flushed red from him.

“You got the message?”

“I got the message,” he repeated, another meaning entirely. Are you breaking apart, he wanted to ask. How can you still care about anyone else, he needed to ask.

(Do you need someone to take your anger out on, or to understand?)

He couldn’t ask either, and he was left with burning frustration.

Sydney smiled at him, like she understood perfectly what was wrong with him.

“Good,” she said. “You have an hour to leave this city.”

He lingered, not wanting to leave quite yet.

“You didn’t have to tell me that, did you?”

“Now you have fifty eight minutes.”

His lips quirked.

“Sydney. You should keep this,” he said, handing her back the bottle. Sark was always a quick study. He had left a message of his own on her shoulder.

A simple one.

‘You know where to find me.’

And then he’d wait as long as he had to. It wasn’t as if he had a choice anymore, did he?


End file.
